Pain is a risk that you don't get a voice for. Most people know how to fight theirs off. Most people don't have too much. But pain is such a violent thing within my pale skin, delicate as a late autumn leaf. For, I am not strong. I am a detriment to the beauty around me, a tattered seashell stumbling across the shore. I have seen too many sides of this sea and my heart is worn to dust. This pain used to be a raging scarlet burning through my heart, but it is now black. It has morphed into a solid fog. It is bigger and stronger. The darkness consumes me, breaks me down until it owns every part of me, and it finally wins.